The Trouble with Honor (6 page)

God help her, she couldn’t falter now—she’d already walked out on the plank away from propriety and decency. “As I said, I very much need you to seduce someone.”

He lifted her arm, touched his lips to her inner wrist through the keyhole of her glove then lifted his head with a knowing smile. “It would seem I am more successful at seduction in this coach than I thought.” He pulled her forward. His eyes were blazing. “If not you, little bird, then
who?
”

“Miss...Miss Monica Hargrove.”

Mr. Easton blinked. He suddenly let go of her wrist and fell back against the squabs. “Miss Hargrove,” he repeated disbelievingly.

Honor nodded, thankful for the opportunity to catch her breath. She pressed her palm to her chest, took a breath.

“Isn’t Sommerfield affianced to Miss Hargrove?”

Honor nodded again.

“Your stepbrother,” he announced, as if she had not realized that Viscount Sommerfield was one and the same as Augustine.

When Honor said nothing, Easton surprised her with a laugh to the ceiling. “Of all the
reprehensible—
”

“Reprehensible!” Honor protested. “Goodness, Mr. Easton, I am not asking that you
ruin
her. I merely ask that you direct her attention elsewhere,” she said, and fluttered her fingers in a vaguely “elsewhere” direction.

“For what purpose should I direct her attention elsewhere?” he asked, mimicking her finger fluttering.

“Surely it is clear as to
purpose.
”

“The only purpose
I
can see is to make your stepbrother cry off his engagement, and I cannot imagine what reason you would have that is in any way founded—”

“I have my reasons,” she said crisply.

“Do you,” he drawled, folding his arms across his chest. “What are they?”

“You need not know—”

“Bloody hell I need not know. You ask me to turn the head of your brother’s fiancée and tell me I need not know
why?
”

“I certainly hadn’t counted on you
arguing
with me,” she said petulantly, and toyed with the fringe of the window’s sash, thinking quickly. “I cannot divulge what I know about Miss Hargrove,” she said hesitantly, “but I can assure you I have very good reason to wish that she not marry Augustine.” She glanced at Easton again, who was now looking at her with complete disdain. His eyes were still blazing, but in a strangely different way. Honor swallowed. “No good can come of their union. You must trust me,” she insisted. “And I thought...I thought that perhaps you might agree to help me.”

“Of course,” he said with mock sincerity. “Because of who I am.”

“Yes! Because you are a man who takes risks and you are rather...” She couldn’t help but take him in, his broad shoulders, his muscular legs, his fine mouth.

“Rather
what?
” he prodded her, nudging her leg with his knee again. “Rather a
bastard?
A man whose mere association with a debutante casts a shadow on her?”

“No!”
Honor said, feeling herself color. “I meant you are
handsome,
Mr. Easton. And...and wealthy. At least there is some speculation that you are. Naturally, I would not know firsthand.”

“Naturally,” he said a bit derisively.

Lord, when she said these things out loud, she sounded absurd. She glanced to the window again, trying to find her way back to her plan, which she was having trouble remembering around the man’s sensual gaze and masculine presence. This plan had seemed almost flawless when she’d first conceived it, but Grace was right. This was a ridiculous thing to have done.

She was startled by a nudge of her knee again. She glanced at Easton.

“And if Sommerfield cries off? With that tiny bit of conscience you might have salvaged after requesting a favor such as this, you believe you will have saved him from some great embarrassment and spared his suffering?”

He had not completely dismissed her? “Well,” Honor said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “I wouldn’t put it
precisely
that way, but—”

“But,” he interrupted, and leaned forward again, so that his face was only inches from hers. His hand found her knee and squeezed, causing Honor to lose track of what she was saying altogether.

“With Beckington on his deathbed, you fear that a new countess will not look kindly to keeping four stepsisters as they should like to be kept.”

Honor gasped—how had he divined
that?

“And therefore, you wish to keep Sommerfield from marrying Miss Hargrove so that you might continue to live as you please. And that, Miss Cabot, weighs more than a bit on the side of reprehensible.” He squeezed her knee once more as if to punctuate it, then leaned back, both arms now spread along the back of the squabs, looking as if he thought himself vastly superior to her. He cocked a brow, silently daring her to disagree with him.

Honor could hardly disagree with him, but she would not be chastised by him, either. Who the devil did this man think he was? She suddenly leaned forward and put her hand on
his
knee—but her fingers scarcely reached the breadth of it. She tried to squeeze, but his knee was as hard as stone. “And what if that is my intent? What possible difference should that make to
you?
”

He laughed with delight. “By God, you
are
bold! You admit it is true!”

“I understand how these things work, Mr. Easton. I am not some debutante freshly picked from the garden.”

“No, you certainly are not that,” he said jovially.

“Before
you
think to scold
me,
I shall remind you that you are also guilty of pursuing
your
singular happiness without regard for the consequences to others.” She squeezed as hard as she might, but it seemed to have no effect on him.

“Pardon?” he said, laughing outright now. “What do you mean?”

She sat back, folded her arms tightly across her. “Please,” she said with roll of her eyes. “
Everyone
in town knows about your affair with Lady Dearing. And that is on top of the rumors surrounding you and Lady Uxbridge and Mrs. Glover as well, who you apparently seduced at the same time you were courting her daughter—”

“All right, all right,” he said cheerfully, holding up his hand to stop her. “You have made your point.”

“I should think I have,” she said primly, and brushed the lap of her gown. Another thought flitted through her head—was this how he had seduced Miss Glover? “As to Miss Hargrove, the truth is that I am in a bit of a bind.”

“Are you?” he said skeptically, and waved his hand grandly at her, indicating she should continue.

“It is a simple fact in our society that women who don’t enjoy the protection of a brother, a father or even an uncle are rather helpless. It’s not as if we can make our own living, is it? The only way we might get by is to marry well.”

“As Miss Hargrove clearly intends to do,” he pointed out. “As
you
should do, if you want my opinion.”

“Thank you, but I do not want your opinion.”

He grinned, and that fluttering started in her all over again.

“Miss Hargrove would have any number of offers if she liked,” Honor said, and it was true. As much as it pained her to admit it, Monica was a beautiful woman, her looks admired by men and women alike. “It needn’t be Augustine. But as it
is
Augustine, the stakes are quite high for me.”

“I would think you’d have any number of offers, as well,” he said. “Is that not a better solution?”

“Yes, of course, a woman’s only hope—marry well. Thank you for your confidence, but we aren’t discussing me.”

“Perhaps you should have asked for an offer as your favor, Miss Cabot. I find the request for conjugal bliss
far
more enticing.”

“I beg your pardon,” Honor said, taking great exception. “I would
never
ask a gentleman to offer for my hand!”

“I see. You will not ask a man to marry you, but you will ask him to seduce the woman who would be your sister-in-law.” His brows rose dubiously.

“Two entirely different points, Mr. Easton!” she argued. “My sister Grace and I, we shall make our way in society with or without Augustine’s support, but my younger sisters are not yet out, and they cannot hope to fare as well without proper introduction. And my mother—” She caught herself, took a deep breath.

“Your mother?” he prodded.

Now she’d gone and done it. She anxiously smoothed the lap of her gown again. “My mother is unwell,” she said, and looked up. “No one knows.”

He eyed her shrewdly a moment. “I am sorry to hear it,” he said softly.

His tenderness surprised her. And strangely enough, it made the fluttering in her spread across her skin. “I rather doubt my mother will find another situation that will provide the same sort of opportunities for my younger sisters that Grace and I have enjoyed. I fear they will be pushed from society altogether.”

“Why not take your fears to Sommerfield?” he asked. “He seems a rather fair fellow to me. Surely he would provide a stipend—”

“He is too easily persuaded by Miss Hargrove’s opinion. And Miss Hargrove is... That is to say, she will...” Honor sighed again with frustration, finding her reasoning so bloody difficult to explain. “Well, I shan’t lie about it,” she said wearily. What was the point in that? “Miss Hargrove doesn’t care for me in the least.”

“Aha. And you are certain of this?”

“Oh, quite,” Honor said with a flick of her hand. “She finds me unlikable.”

“Oh?” He smiled again. “Passing strange, as I find you quite likable.”

That remark sent a little thrill down her spine. Honor didn’t want to smile, but she could feel one playing at the corners of her lips. “Even so?”

“Even so.” He smiled warmly at her.

There was nothing wolfish about it, and yet...and yet Honor was breathless once more.

“So then, tell me, Miss Cabot, if I were to agree to your outlandishly reprehensible and ill-advised request to save your poor sisters and ailing mother—”

She gasped with surprised delight. “You
will?
”

“I said
if,
” he cautioned her. “But if I were to agree, what will I have in return?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come now, lass, I’ve seen you with cards in your hand. You are far too astute to believe I’d not want something in return for this favor.”

Apparently she was not as astute as he thought, for that had not crossed her mind.

He abruptly shifted forward again and deliberately allowed his gaze to wander the full length of her body, then up again. He touched her jaw with his knuckle, tracing a slow, deliberate line, sending Honor’s heart into another wave of wild beating. “What are you willing to trade?” he asked, his voice low and silky.

She leaned away from him. “How dare you—”

Easton took her by the arm and pulled her back. “How dare
I?
” he asked, admiring her mouth. He reminded her of a cat with a mouse, determining just how much to play before making the kill. “How dare I ask for recompense for a wretched deed?” He abruptly cupped her breast as if it were the most natural thing to do. Honor caught her breath; he smiled a little and began to massage it. “How dare I ask for a favor in return?” he asked silkily as tiny fires of desire erupted and sluiced down Honor’s spine.

“You ask too
much,
” she said, and pressed away from him. “How can you call yourself a gentleman?”

“I’ve not called myself anything, love.” He brushed his knuckles across her breast, sending another shaft of fire down her spine, then cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek.

Honor’s heart was beating so quickly she wondered how it did not leap from her chest. She understood how he would seduce and claim a woman. She understood why so many women had taken him as a lover. She was drawn to him, to his intense gaze, admiring and ravenous at once. To his touch, unyielding and yet soft. “Allow me to suggest a suitable trade,” she said quickly, before this cat devoured its prey. “I will pay you,” she said, alarmed that her voice shook ever so slightly. “There is the one hundred pounds I won from your purse. I could return that in exchange for your help.”

“You would return one hundred pounds, fairly won, for this?” he asked silkily, and flicked his finger across the tip of her breast.

“Actually,” she said, her gaze on his mouth, “I would return ninety-two pounds.” She did not think it necessary to tell him that she’d bought a bonnet, some shoes and some underthings with the money.

“Enticing. But money is not what I have in mind.” He slipped his hand to her nape and pulled her closer. “I have in mind something just for you.” He put his mouth to her ear and said low, “Something that will make your timid heart shatter and bring a glow to your fair cheeks.” His hand was in her lap, his palm pressing against her abdomen. “Do you know what will bring a glow to a woman’s cheek, Miss Cabot?”

She tried to turn her head, but she couldn’t seem to force herself to do it. “I am not a girl, Mr. Easton.”

“Aren’t you?” he whispered, and drew her earlobe in between a pair of soft, moist lips, nibbling it.

Dear Lord, she would expire. She closed her eyes, taking in his scent—spicy and warm—the feel of his hands on her. She could imagine his hands on all of her, and feared that her heart would give in, and she would die here on this bench. And yet, somehow, she managed to keep calm. “I can offer you ninety-two pounds, nothing else. There is nothing else I will trade, sir.”

He shifted closer, his lips against her cheek now, and Honor thought he intended to kiss her. Her mind screamed for her to bang on the ceiling to cry out to Jonas to save her. But another, wanton part of her was whispering
kiss me. Kiss me, kiss me....

He slid his hand up her rib cage, to the side of her breast. “I will think on your ninety-two pounds,” he murmured, his breath warm and moist on her skin, tantalizing her almost to the point of madness.

“You mean to do it,” she said softly, surprised, and opened her eyes. “You will grant me this favor.”